


The Facts of the Matter Remain the Same

by writeitininkorinblood



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Meetings, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5708485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Race and Spot met on tumblr because Spot was wrong (or because Race was insufferable, it was really up to debate). Their friendship was almost immediate. Their relationship took a little longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Facts of the Matter Remain the Same

**Author's Note:**

> A prize to the person who spots the reference to a youtube channel I've recently started watching... (prize non-tangible). Anyway, that channel vaguely inspired this so I hope you enjoy!

They had met because Spot was wrong. That was Race’s stance on the matter, anyway. Spot would argue they’d met because Race was an insufferable little shit, but the facts of the matter remain the same either way.

Spot had thousands of followers on tumblr which, in all honesty, he couldn’t explain. Half his posts were reblogs and the other half were rants about whatever had most recently pissed him off. Race had headbutted his way into his life when Spot had written a lengthy and detailed post about why the most recent episode of his favourite TV show was crap and how much he resented the writers for it. He’d gotten two characters’ names the wrong way round, not because he didn’t know who they were but because he was really, really mad and hadn’t edited his rant before posting it. But of course Race, scrolling through his timeline and reading the rant when it had been reblogged by someone he followed, had noticed the mistake and sent him an ask correcting him and the resulting argument about whether or not the error mattered when everyone reading it knew what he’d meant lasted longer than any conversation Spot had ever had, online or in person. He’d gone to bed in the early hours of the morning with a smile on his face.

After that fateful discussion Spot was surprised to find people commenting that they were both clearly meant for each other. He knew Race was ‘gay as hell’, as was proclaimed openly in his tumblr bio, and Spot himself had made no secret of his own sexuality. But that didn’t mean they should date. Still, his curiosity had got the better of him and he’d scrolled through Race’s blog to find some photos of the boy. And damn, he was cute. Infuriating and argumentative, but definitely good looking. So Spot had followed him on twitter, surprised to find that Race had beat him to it, and kept talking to him as if they’d never had a break.

It was impossible to pinpoint the exact moment that Race found himself liking Spot a lot more than he’d anticipated. So many of their conversations were arguments for the first few months of their friendship and it was difficult to assess tone through text, so he couldn’t be sure of the moment ‘you idiot,’ became more of an endearment than an insult. But this boy was witty and clever and fiery, and Race couldn’t ignore that he was also attractive. It would have been impossible not to fall for him, in hindsight. And fall Race did. He pined a lot, to pretty much anyone who would listen, which more often than not meant Davey. Because this gorgeous, funny, intelligent boy who was gay and, as far as Race knew, available was so damn far away that he wanted to scream.

Exactly a year after they’d met on tumblr, they video chatted for the first time. Race was still frantically texting Davey two minutes before Spot had said he’d call because what if he didn’t know what to say or he said something stupid or Spot’s call never came. But then his computer was buzzing at him and he took a deep breath before clicking ‘accept’. The second Spot’s face filled his screen, Race’s heart leapt. Because this boy was real. He wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl or a seventy-year-old man. He was who he said he was and he was _here._ Well his image was. The corporeal Spot was thousands of miles away.

“Hey, Race.” Spot said, grinning. His Brooklyn accent was thick and rough, and Race definitely wanted to hear more of it.

“Tony.” He said, without thinking. As nice as it was to hear Spot speak, Race could only assume it would be infinitely nicer to near Spot call him by his real name.

“What?” Spot asked, his brow furrowing in a way that Race hated himself for finding adorable.

“My real name is Tony,” Race tried again, gaining some confidence but a little self-conscious of his Arizona accent.

“Oh, in that case hi, Tony. If we’re doing real names now, and I can’t believe it took us an entire fucking year, I’m Sean.”

Race grinned when Spot swore, and from that moment on he could talk freely. He knew he was speaking to the same boy he’d had countless discussions with that had lasted all night. And he knew this was the boy who currently, whether he knew it or not, had his heart.

It took some prompting from Davey to get Race to bring up the conversation of being more than friends, and even then it took another few months for Race to work up the courage. He knew he couldn’t do it on video chat, because the idea of actually looking Spot in the eye (and Spot looking back at him) whilst doing it was far too daunting. He’d blush and give away far more than he intended, and he wanted to have as much control over the situation as he could. So Twitter direct messages it was.

He dropped it into a normal conversation as smoothly as he could. They were having a conventional discussion for once, not an argument, and Race took his chance.

**@CigarsandRacetracks: So, any weekend plans? Any cute guys you’ve promised your time to up in Brooklyn? A boyfriend?**

Race held his breath, praying for the answer to be no.

**@KingofBrooklyn: No boyfriend.**

For once, it seemed, the universe was being kind to Race.

**@KingofBrooklyn: There’s this guy, though.**

So close, yet so far. That almost hurt more. Spot wasn’t taken, but still wasn’t interested in Race. But, if he couldn’t date Spot, he was just going to be the best friend he could

**@CigarsandRacetracks: Oh. Care to share?**

**@KingofBrooklyn: There’s not much to say. He’s amazing, but he lives too far away.**

**@KingofBrooklyn: Arizona’s a long way from Brooklyn.**

Race’s fingers froze over the keys of his laptop, his eyes ballooning and his jaw dropping. He couldn’t mean… There was no way this was happening. Race was acutely aware of his every breath and every heartbeat as he slowly let his fingers tap across the letters to form a reply.

**@CigarsandRacetracks: Sean…**

**@KingofBrooklyn: Shit. Forget I said that.**

**@CigarsandRacetracks: No. I can’t.**

**@CigarsandRacetracks: I don’t want to.**

**@KingofBrooklyn: What are you saying?**

**@CigarsandRacetracks: Well if you like me, and I like you…**

**@KingofBrooklyn: We can’t fucking do this. We live too far apart.**

**@CigarsandRacetracks: We managed a friendship, didn’t we?**

**@CigarsandRacetracks: If you’re willing to try this, then???**

**@KingofBrooklyn: …**

**@KingofBrooklyn: Yeah.**

**@KingofBrooklyn: My tumblr followers are going to fucking love this.**

Race took a moment to grin moronically. He couldn’t quite process everything that had just happened. Were they… dating? Spot was right, though: his tumblr followers, should they find out, were going to be over the moon. They all seemed to ship the two of them anyway.

When Race didn’t reply to his last message for a few minutes, Spot got antsy. He was smiling, because the guy he really liked had just suggested they try dating. Had he not been Spot Conlon, he was pretty sure he’d be grinning into a pillow. Instead he swallowed his shock at what had just happened and set up a video call to Race, hoping with everything he had that his _boyfriend_ would pick up. Sure enough, soon Race’s was grinning back at him, looking a little fragile, and a lot happy.

“Hey,” he said, sounding almost breathless.

“Hi,” Spot replied, uncharacteristically nervous and suddenly feeling very out of place in his tiny bedroom in his mom’s house in Brooklyn. He wanted, not for the first time, to be in Arizona with Race. But now he had a rather different idea of what he’d like to do once there. Because he could kiss Race, now, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about doing it for months. Except now only thing standing in the way was around 2,400 miles…

“Say something,” Race said, a smile on his face. He wanted to hear Spot’s accent.

“What?” Spot asked, his mind going blank of pretty much all words. There was a lot he wanted to say to Race, but in that second he’d forgot all of it.

“Anything. I just like hearing you talk.” Race hugged a pillow to his chest, his face aching with how much he was smiling. He felt ridiculous, but he was happier than he could remember in a long time and he wanted to freeze the moment before anything went wrong and destroyed this.

“I like you a lot, Tony.” Spot almost mumbled the admission, uncharacteristically quiet and fighting a red blush on his cheeks.

“Good choice of words.” Race had even less luck trying to prevent his cheeks turning pink, and he buried his face in the pillow in his arms.

“You’re fucking adorable.” It was the last adjective Spot would ever have thought he’d be applying to someone he was dating, but he wouldn’t swap the guy on his screen for anything, despite all the miles between them.

“Far worse choice of words,” Race groaned, pulling a face. He was not adorable. Eighteen year olds were not adorable. That was a quality reserved for children, and occasionally elderly people. Still, when Spot said it, it didn’t sound too bad.

 

They still fought, but usually only about pop culture and it tended to be in public on tumblr. They weren’t angry arguments, but thought-out, nuanced debates about the presentation of LGBT characters, or the lack of them, or how films were depicting women, or people of colour, or disabled people. Spot still had the most followers, but Race’s own numbers had been quickly climbing, especially once Spot had accidentally admitted they were dating, four months into their relationship. The post with ‘just because we’re dating, doesn’t mean I think your opinion on this has any merit’ in the middle of the rant was still the most popular he’d ever written, and he couldn’t bring himself to edit or delete it.

Race’s favourite discussions were those reserved for more private means of conversation. Text usually, video chat once they were both comfortable with it. He supposed it was basically PG sexting. Messages about how much they wanted to see each other, to touch each other, and to kiss each other. It rarely progressed beyond that, but Race’s stomach would do backflips just at the idea of having his hands curled in Spot’s hair and his lips against Spot’s neck. He was pretty sure considering anything else might actually kill him. Still, seeing one another in three dimensions was something they both knew was purely a fantasy.

Another year passed and the ache to go to Arizona and visit Race was getting painful for Spot. He would be willing to walk those 2,400 miles if it was possible, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it, especially since he couldn’t afford hotel rooms along the way. And he’d proposed hitchhiking, but Race had shot that idea down immediately with ‘don’t you even think about risking kidnapping to see me, Conlon. I’d love to see you, but I want you alive when I do.’ _When_. It was going to happen. Someday.

Spot’s eighteen birthday was three months after their one-year anniversary and whenever he was asked what he wanted, he’d reply with ‘Race’. The distance was making him miserable, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it. He knew a long distance relationship wasn’t easy, and he began to wonder if he’d made a mistake thinking they could make it work. His love for Race increased exponentially every day, but that didn’t decrease the miles between them.

 

On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, Spot traipsed downstairs and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. He smiled weakly at his mom when she presented him with the mandatory Conlon breakfast pancakes. And then an envelope. He picked it up gingerly, confused. It wasn’t a birthday card from an estranged relative; it was long, thin and plain white, with no address or stamp. On the front someone, probably his mom, had written ‘we all chipped in, happy birthday!’

“Open it,” she said, sitting down beside him.

“Who’s we?” Spot asked as he slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope, but not looking at the contents until he got an answer.

“Everyone who wanted to get you a birthday present. Me, your grandmother, your sister, both your aunts, and your uncle. This is all there is, but I think it’ll be worth it.” There was a huge smile on his mom’s face and Spot braced himself to fake gratefulness. It was obvious they’d put a lot of thought and effort into whatever was in the envelope, but like he’d said, there was just one thing he wanted. And Race wouldn’t fit in the small stationary in front of him.

He pulled out the paper in front of him and the world seemed to stop. It was a plane ticket. New York, JFK to Arizona, PHX. His eyes went wide and he heard himself gasp, but wasn’t aware of consciously making the sound. They’d got him Race in the only way they could. He’d take, he checked the return date on the ticket, two weeks of his boyfriend over any number of birthday presents any day.

“Mom...” He tried to thank her, but his voice was thick with tears and he had to press his lips together and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn’t start crying.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Sean. I know you’re desperate to meet him.”

For the first time in almost a decade, Sean Conlon threw his arms around his mother and hugged her tightly. He was going to see Race for two whole weeks, and it felt strangely like going home.

 

Three weeks later Spot was getting off a four-and-a-half-hour flight, and stepping onto Arizona soil for the first time. He’d ducked into the first bathroom he’d seen, not yet having left the secure part of the airport for the part where Race was waiting. He had to take a moment to prepare for this, splashing water on his face and taking some deep breaths. Race was so close. Race was in the _same building_ as him. How was he supposed to react to that? He was incredibly nervous, but at the same time he couldn’t wait. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend of over a year. He wanted to hug him and hold his hand and trace his cheekbones. Why on earth was he hiding in a bathroom? He shook his head, tamed his hair and grabbed his bag, ignoring how tightly his fingers were clutching the strap.

Every step he took seemed momentous, but he had to force himself not to run. Both in the direction of Race, and away from him. Because what if he wasn’t what Race was expecting, wasn’t what he wanted? What if he’d come all this way and all they did was break up? But he had no choice to believe that wasn’t going to happen. He trusted Race, and he really goddamn loved him. And Spot Conlon didn’t run from anything.

 

Race was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, unable to internally process his nerves and his excitement. Spot was going to walk through the arrivals door at any moment, and he’d be able to see his boyfriend in three dimensions, without the interference of a grainy screen. Davey, who had kindly offered to drive him to the airport (after a lot of begging and a little bribery), was leaning against the closest wall, reading a new book (that would be the bribe). He looked up every few minutes, amused by Race’s pacing and general inability to stand still. Just as he finished a chapter, he glanced up again. This time he found Race frozen like a rabbit in headlights, his eyes bugged and his jaw slack. Davey followed his line of sight and suddenly Race’s stupor made sense. Spot was gingerly making his way over, carrying only a beaten-up backpack. Davey smiled and went back to his book, deciding it would be a while before they needed his driving assistance.

 

“Hi,” Race said, as soon as Spot was close enough to hear him. His voice was forced and sounded almost foreign. Spot had stopped walking once Race had spoken and was awkwardly fiddling with the frayed strap of his bag, a few feet away.

“Hey,” he replied, just as stiffly.

Race coughed. “It’s good to see you.” He hated the words he was saying, they sounded stupid and contrived and why was he even bothering with words when Spot was close enough to touch? Still, he couldn’t make his feet move.

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward moment of silence before Race decided that enough was enough, and stepped forward to hug Spot fiercely. It was incredibly bizarre, being able to touch him. He’d known so much about this boy, about how he talked and his mannerisms and how he screwed his nose up when Race said something he deemed stupid, but he hadn’t realised there was so much he didn’t know. Like how tall Spot was (short, but that was okay because Race was, too), or how he smelled or how he hugged (like he never wanted to let go, which was perfectly fine with Race). Spot’s shirt was rough against Race’s cheek where he’d rested his face on his boyfriend’s shoulder, but it just made everything seem more real.

“God, Sean,” he mumbled, unable to fully rationalise that this was happening after so long. He’d worried it would be anti-climatic, but evidently he’d underestimated how much he’d like having Spot in his arms.

“Just Sean is fine,” he laughed, and Race poked him in the ribs, still unwilling to let him go, especially when he could feel Spot laughing against him.

Race wasn’t sure how long they clung to each other in the middle of the arrivals hall at the airport. He was so caught up in Spot that he couldn’t pay mind to anything else, time and other people included. Eventually Davey came over and gently patted Race’s shoulder. It took him a good few seconds to prepare himself to let go of Spot and turn around.

“Yeah, Dave?” He tried not to sound annoyed at the interruption. Davey had driven him two hours to the airport, and was going to drive another two hours back. He deserved a little more than angry questions.

“As sweet as this all is, wouldn’t you rather be at home?” Davey rationalised, and Race knew there was a reason he’d picked him and not Jack (many reasons, actually).

“Probably,” Race sighed. Then he realised Spot was upwardly hovering at his side. “Um, this is Sean. Sean, this is my friend Davey.” He intertwined his fingers with Spot’s, squeezing his hand in an attempt to be reassuring.

Spot looked Davey up and down, recalling all the things Race had told him about this particular friend. Likes reading, at lot; little brother; dating… Jack, was it?; occasionally prey to whatever the Jewish version of Christian guilt was.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Spot said, honestly. And most of it was good. Race always spoke highly of his friends, and it was clearly important that Spot got on with them. So he stuck out his hand to shake Davey’s.

“Likewise.” Davey smiled, shaking Spot’s hand. Race relaxed a little when it was obvious Davey approved. One friend down, so many more to go. But they all knew how important Spot was to Race, so they’d hopefully know to make their best attempts at being affable.

 

The journey back to Race’s house was a collaboration of intermittent periods of silence and fast, enthusiastic conversation. The longer he and Spot spent in each other’s company, the easier it was to talk freely. He found himself unwilling to let go of Spot’s hand, aware that every second was now another tick towards him having to leave. He didn’t want to waste a moment.

Davey dropped them outside Race’s house. He was politely invited inside for a drink, but it was incredibly obvious that his presence was really not required, or indeed wanted. So, like the sensible person he was, he didn’t even get out the car. Race couldn’t deny that he was glad to see Davey drive away. He loved all his friends, but Spot was here for the first time and the novelty of that made him itch to just have an hour or so dedicated to spending time with his boyfriend before his parents came home from work. His friends and his boyfriend would be introduced eventually, but for now he was sure Davey would fill them in.

Showing Spot his house felt awkward and formal, but once Race reached his bedroom he let himself relax a little. As did Spot, flopping down onto Race’s bed and making himself at home. It was a room he’d seen through a tiny screen for years, and now he was actually in it. And Race was in it. That made for some very intriguing possibilities in Spot’s mind, and he wanted to start to explore them.

“Come here,” he said, anticipation and trepidation strong in his voice, no matter how he tried to keep it level.

Race turned from the window (he’d been frowning at the rain, wishing Spot was seeing a better Arizona) to see Spot sat on on the edge of his bed, looking up at him with wide, almost desperate eyes.

“I…” Race stumbled over the word, unable to say any more. They were alone for the first time and there was suddenly a huge weight of expectation in the air. This had to be a perfect kiss, and that was too daunting to comprehend.

“Please,” Spot said, quirking one corner of his mouth into a hopeful smile, but unable to remove the raw pining in his voice.

Race let himself give in to the force that seemed to be pulling him towards Spot, like a Red String of Fate. He stumbled across his room, not able to take his eyes of his boyfriend to watch his footing. Spot was tugging the edge of his lip between his teeth, clearly nervous. As soon as he was close enough, Race brushed across Spot’s mouth with his thumb to tease his lip free.

Spot leaned back on his hands, looking up Race like he was transfixed. He wanted to curse himself for being so awkward and reserved, and not just kissing Race the way he wanted to, but he’d never felt so anxious. For once he was willing to hand over the control to someone else.

Sitting up on the edge of a bed was not the most comfortable position for kisses, but Race was determined to make it work. He rested his weight on a knee up on the mattress, next to Spot’s thigh, before letting his hand go to Spot’s cheek and leaning in. The first thing he noticed were how rough Spot’s lips were, and how warm. Then he noticed Spot’s hands moving to his hips to pull him closer. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face, kissing Spot between grins. It was almost ridiculously chaste, considering they’d been dating a year and hadn’t been able to so much as touch each other, and Race knew it wasn’t going to stay that way long. But for those few seconds it seemed impossibly precious that he was finally, _finally_ kissing the boy he wholeheartedly loved, and he wanted a moment to revel in the fact that was Spot’s body against his, Spot’s lips against his, Spot’s hands in his hair. He couldn’t help but be thoroughly and irrevocably pleased that Spot had been wrong, all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't why Arizona. I think I just googled a map of the United States and picked a place really far from New York.


End file.
